London – Christmas Celebration at a Bar

The bar buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the scent of pine mixed with ale and smoke. Outside, snow dusted the streets of London, but inside, the fire and festive spirit kept the cold at bay. For a moment, the war felt distant.

You sat at the bar with friends, laughing at a group of loud Americans soldiers by the piano, their energy infectious. The men, pilots from the airbase, seemed to be celebrating a mission. Their ringleader, a tall man with chestnut hair, grinned as he sang "Blue Skies" by Frank Sinatra, his deep blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That’s Major Egan," one of the girls beside you whispered, giving your arm a nudge. "Proper charmer, isn’t he?"

You had heard his name before—Major John Egan, one of the pilots from the nearby base. His reputation preceded him: a flirt, quick with a joke, and always at the center of attention. Tonight, though, he seemed larger than life.

But then, to your surprise, his gaze locked on you. He grinned mid-verse, his eyes twinkling as he strolled away from the piano and crossed the room, making a beeline for your group. And before you could process it, he was standing in front of you.

“Mind if I steal you for a dance, darling?” he asked, his voice smooth with just a hint of teasing. He didn’t wait for your answer, already reaching for your hand, his warm fingers curling around yours.

You were too stunned to protest, your laughter spilling out in disbelief as he gently but firmly tugged you to your feet. The room seemed to fall away as he pulled you closer, his hand finding its place on the small of your back, guiding you toward the center of the room. Your breath caught in your throat as his arm wrapped around your waist, the contact sending a rush of warmth through you.

“I don’t dance,” you managed to stammer, your cheeks flushing as you realized how close you were to him.

He chuckled, his voice low and playful as he held you steady, his movements effortless. “Lucky for you, I do.”